


Exhumed

by thesacredgrove



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Angst, Artisanal Lemon, Feels, Fucked Up, Hand Jobs, Incest, Lemon, Longing, M/M, Masturbation, Oral Sex, Sibling Incest
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2014-10-19
Updated: 2015-03-05
Packaged: 2018-02-21 18:30:56
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 11
Words: 10,450
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2478230
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/thesacredgrove/pseuds/thesacredgrove
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Like every other damned thing about their lives, Sam knew this was wrong and unnatural – but that couldn't stop what he felt. He loved his brother, the way brothers are supposed to love each other. But also in a different way.</p><p>A way he buried.</p><p>Little did he know - Dean had felt the fire, too.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Sammy - Part I

Sam hadn't left because he was sick of hunting. Or the crappy motels. Or the diner food. Or even because he couldn't get along with his asshole father.

He'd really left because of Dean.

After more years than he cared to admit, all full of pushing his feelings down, he just couldn't bear another day so close to the thing he wanted without being allowed to _have_. He was anything but selfish, but he just couldn't do it anymore. He needed to pretend to be normal.

Like every other damned thing in their lives, Sam knew it was wrong and unnatural – but that couldn't stop what he felt.  
  
He loved his brother, the way brothers are supposed to love each other. But in a different way, too.

A way he buried.

* * *

  
He'll never forget the day that feeling found him. They'd been after a ghost that night, the three of them: him, Dean and their father. It had been dealt with and everyone was safe, but Sam had taken a spill in the cemetery – fallen backwards over a tombstone of all things, running from that god-forsaken spirit. He'd bumped his clumsy head and, more seriously, cracked his elbow open. John had sent the boys back to their motel to take care of the injury while he cleaned up the body they'd exhumed, reburied the bones they'd salted and burned.

Sam could have taken care of himself, but Dean - always the protective older brother - insisted on plunking him down on the edge of one of the room's beds to clean and dress the elbow for him. Old enough now to patch himself up, Sammy was annoyed and bothered by being babied.

But then his brother did something he'd never done before, and everything changed.

When Dean was done cleaning the wound, he'd softly taken that injured elbow to his mouth and kissed it, looking up the length of his younger brother's arm and meeting his eyes for one wordless moment. The action was full of love, and Sam felt a strange warmth he couldn't place. The gesture was an afterthought, surely, but Dean had done it nonetheless - without sarcasm or jokes.

“All better, Sammy,” he'd finally said, quietly and with more tenderness than the younger Winchester had ever heard in his brother's voice.

Sam was not quite a man yet, but still far too old by then for childish affection; the kissing of 'boo-boos' was an infantile luxury Dean had never afforded his brother. Not the sentimental type - internally, maybe, but never showing it – he was simply not that kind of person. The affectionate action caught the younger brother off guard simply because of its nature, but also because of what it did to him.

He'd instantly gotten an erection.

Dean hadn't noticed - thank God - and Sammy awkwardly chalked it up to the weirdness of his brother's out-of-character sensitivity and the bump on his head. Bandaged and bruised, he went to bed quickly and considered the matter closed.

Until he dreamt about Dean's hot mouth that night and woke up covered in a warm, wet mess of his own sex.

Again, he chalked it up to being hit on the head and pushed it from his mind as a silliness he need not consider further. But the more Sam tried to forget his brother's lips on his skin, the warmth in his voice and the fire he swore he'd seen in his eyes, the more he realized that the way his body had reacted wasn't just a fluke. Yes, he was often lonely, and also relatively new to the concepts of romance and sex - but not so crazed or starved for such to seek out anything like this. Yet, he ended up alone in the dark with his cock in his hand more than once, thinking about that sentimental kiss, the touch of his brother's hands, and the fire on his face.

* * *

  
Time would pass and Sam would forget for a while, thinking he was finally over whatever ridiculousness he'd let himself get caught up in. But then he'd catch a glimpse of Dean in just a towel after a shower, or see him pulling a shirt on over that thickly muscled bare chest of his, or worse yet … _just spend time with him_ laughing and smiling - and that fire would be brought right back to the surface again, always hotter than before.

Sammy knew it was sick. Their lives were fucked up, full of evil – but not like _this_. He found that he couldn't help himself, he couldn't make the longing stop, no matter what. Over and over, he caught himself thinking about his brother in ways you just _shouldn't_. And not just silly fantasies, either - those, he could dismiss ... this was well beyond that. A pull, like nothing he'd ever imagined; something he'd not feel the like of for years - an addiction that couldn't be ignored - tugged at him, threatened to rip him apart.

Thoughts and feelings always circled back: to his brother, his best friend, the fire in his heart, the person who knew him best – the one he loved more than anyone else in the world.

Back to Dean.

Always.


	2. Sammy - Part II

Sammy thought that maybe as time went by, the more people he met and things he did, the faster he would outgrow what he considered a childish feeling. As his world grew, maybe he would too.  
  
He didn't. His thoughts, passion and reason always circled back to his brother.  
  
Always, to Dean.  
  
Of course, Sam had relationships – all fleeting, naturally, but some quite good. He grew to taste love in many flavors, despite his overwhelming desire for a single forbidden thing just out of his reach.  
  
At first, Sam only found himself attracted to women, but in time the allure of the male form called to him, too. He was never sure if his love for Dean pushed him toward other men – seeking him out in the arms of others - or if his innate attraction pushed him further onward in his desire for his brother. Either way, his buried feeling stayed with him as a secret companion through it all.  
  
It never went away. Always, circling back to Dean.  
  
Sammy tried to reconcile brotherly love with that secret pull, growing in brightness and intensity always. It worked most of the time - kept him in check, prevented him from acting on his sick feelings just enough to keep him going. As he matured though, that fire he felt grew hotter and brighter instead of diminishing, and it became harder and harder to hold himself back from what he wanted more than anything.  
  
In time, Sam came to know that his emotions weren't a phase or a fleeting silliness he could ever dismiss. What he'd found that night, in that room, sitting on the edge of that bed with his brother, was never going to leave him. He could never act on it, express it or quantify it – but it was a part of him, forever.  
  
That realization was both comforting and terrifying, the shame of it burning hot inside of him - hotter than the forbidden feelings that brought it on. It pushed Sammy toward a cliff.  
  
It had to stop, for everyone's good.

* * *

  
It was easiest for Sammy to blame their father, the hunting and their life for him leaving. Part of it was true of course - he _did_ desperately want to be normal, but not just in the way he lead his family to believe. He just couldn't do it anymore: “it” was pretending not to be a monster, though – not hunting the real ones. The brunt of his inability to cope had less to do with those creatures and more to do with the one full of disgrace and confusion that lived inside of him.

Sam left. And it hurt - a lot. Not just him, he knew, but his father, too.

And Dean.  
  
 _Dean._  
  
The man he had grown so close to, respected, looked up to, and loved more than any other. Not being able to tell him his secret, his sickness - how he felt, how he'd felt for _years_ – was just too much now that Sammy had grown into a man himself. The pain of knowing he had something real and lasting to offer, **but couldn't**  ... to his brother, who needed the kind of love he had to give ... it just crushed Sam one time too many. It was too much for him, and he knew if he didn't let go, it would destroy his family more than his leaving ever could.

So, the little boy protected by his brother for so long, was off on his own now - alone and grown. Sam - never Sammy, not anymore - managed to move on; like surviving death, you somehow learn to just live without. The pain of loss was real for him, made realer because it was of his own doing. It had just been too much. His feelings had made him bolder, and he knew he would not have been able to hide inside himself for much longer if he'd stayed. Hurting just himself was better than destroying the entire family.

He went to school, kept himself busy. Spreading his wings, he got himself a girlfriend – beautiful and smart. He excelled, becoming an undergraduate, and was going to head to law school soon.

He had everything going for him.

And then Dean came. And Sam's carefully constructed Everything turned into Nothing.

And his nothing became their everything, all over again.

 


	3. Room 17

_I can't fight this feeling any longer  
And yet I'm still afraid to let it flow._

_REO Speedwagon – Can't Fight This Feeling_

 

That had all happened some time ago. These brothers had been through so much since then, but part of Sam truly believed none of the horrors they'd survived could hold a candle to what he'd done just now.

Sitting quietly on the edge of a familiar motel bed, his head in his hands, the younger Winchester had finally done it: he'd let out his secret, the worst and darkest thing he'd ever had inside. It spilled first from his too-expressive eyes, then over his lips; the years of guilt, longing, confusion, lust and love – always love - pulled out of a grave of emotion and thrown on the grass at his brother's feet.

It had been getting harder and harder to distract himself and deflect his feelings when it was just the two of them now, alone on the road. There was sometimes nothing between them save a few feet of air and plaid cotton for days at a time, and it wasn't as easy to "be normal " as it used to be. Some days, Sam was glad they were in this mess, saving the god-damned world - it made him forget the sickness consuming him, how fucked up he knew he was, how much he hurt.

But he'd been reminded tonight – violently. And for some reason he couldn't figure out, he'd decided to share it with his brother, at length.

Sitting in silence with Dean across from him, Sam had his whole world to lose. And he was terrified.

* * *

They'd pulled into the motel parking lot around 8 o'clock. As Dean went inside to pay for their room, Sam finally looked up from his work long enough to realize where they'd ended up - somehow. He flung the car door open wide and rushed inside the dingy office like a mad man, getting there just as his brother got their key. The younger man interrupted, asked the clerk for Room 17 instead. It was vacant and he switched their rental with no problem, but that hadn't kept Dean from grilling his brother about the odd request.

Sam pretended to ignore him as they walked back to the car, pulled up to #17, unloaded and went inside. He breathed in heavily, dropped his bags on the closest bed and sat down hard at the edge.

“We've been here before,” Sam said, taking in a deep breath and rubbing his eyes, “a long time ago. On that ghost case I hurt my elbow on.”

Dean looked around the room for a moment as he walked to the tiny refrigerator in the corner.

“Oh, yeah,” he replied, pulling the fridge open and stooping low to stock it from a six-pack he'd brought in, “I thought this dump had a familiar scent of sadness.”

Everything came out of Sammy then – all of it like a slow rainstorm, with him sitting in the very spot where it had all started, getting soaked.

Dean hadn't stopped what he was doing at first. Filled the fridge, cracked a beer - barely hearing, it seemed. He'd even turned on the television for a minute. But as Sam continued - halting, choking, unable to look him in the eye - his brother slowly sank into the room's only chair and started to listen in earnest, sinking lower and lower as the story continued. 

It took Sam a long time to get everything out. When he was done – Hell, less than half-way through - he held his head in his hands and waited for Dean to hit him. Repeatedly. He planned to let his big brother kick his ass, leave him fucked-up on the motel room floor, take the Impala and drive away - gone for good this time. He deserved that and more. Being left to the life he'd tried to take for himself – a life of forgetting and trying to be normal - was too good a sentence for his crimes, really.

Instead, the older Winchester sat motionless and silent, the shoddy pale fabric of the chair he sat in a stark contrast to his dark plaid. He was totally still, hands tented in front of him for far longer than Sam liked.

“Say something, Dean,” the younger man finally said, breaking the silence that was killing him.

Dean met Sam's eyes but still sat wordlessly, staring at and through his little brother, scaring the shit out of him. After an agony of time, he finally gripped both arms of the chair and stood up, towering over the usually taller man. He crossed the distance between them in one step and joined Sam on the bed, sitting gingerly at the edge.

Resting hip-to-hip, Dean grasped his brother's arm  – the one hurt that night so long ago – and was met by a startled jump. As gently as he could, the older Winchester drew the long flannel sleeve covering that arm up and over Sam's elbow, soothing, searching. Dean knew the old wound was still there somewhere, hiding under the shit-light the cheap motel lamp gave off, and he squinted in search of it, stopping when he finally found what he sought.

He took the elbow and the scar it held in both hands, brought it to his lips, and kissed it softly. Looking up the length of Sam's arm to meet his eyes, their gazes touched for another loving, wordless moment.

“All better, Sammy,” he finally said.


	4. Dean - Part I

_“Beer,”_ Dean thought.  
  
Sam was acting weird - weirder than usual. He was fine on their way here but had gone nutty in the parking lot: first the silent-treatment, now non-stop babbling.  
  
Dean had listened for about 2 seconds before remembering there was a beer in his hand. He twisted it open and flicked on the television: a 'Behind The Music' classic rock marathon was on.  
  
Smiling wide, the older Winchester took a deep swig and began to prepare himself for a mind-numbing night of alcohol and rock 'n roll awesomeness.  
  
Sammy - still talking - shrugged to emphasize something he'd said and raised his arms wide. One large hand whizzed in front of the television; it caught Dean's eye and distracted him from a hunter's reverie long enough to make him glance over at his brother, just for a second.  
  
He met Sam's eyes and for a moment, time stood still.  
  
Dean shuddered – memories of fire flooding over him. He took another deep swig.  
  
The big man was hunched over, crouched on the edge of the cramped motel bed, looking like he was waiting for the world to swallow him whole. His face was painted with such a troubled expression that it left the rest of him looking half-sized; Dean was reminded of how small and worried Sam used to be as a kid, before he'd blossomed almost overnight into the man he was today.  
  
Sensitive, smart, strong, capable ...  
  
Dean took another long pull from his beer to snap himself out of his little trance. Something serious was really bothering his baby brother. He turned, eager to find out what.  
  
A few lines of halting speech hit his ears; suddenly, Dean wasn't thinking about an evening of classic rock anymore. Hands trembled as he set his sweating lager bottle on the edge of the dresser and moved to the thread-bare armchair facing Sammy. Words were pouring out of the younger man's mouth fast now – too fast – so Dean sat to try to make sense of what he was hearing.  
  
His brother was saying some crazy shit - shit Dean only ever dreamed he'd hear.  
  
After a minute, he realized he'd been forgetting to breathe.

* * *

  
By this point, Dean Winchester had an honorary doctorate in forgetting. It's a requirement when you're a twisted, sick, son-of-a-bitch who still has to look at himself in a mirror every morning. Which he was, and had been for a while now.  
  
At the top of the long list of things Dean was glad to have forgotten? Exactly when he'd first realized his love for his brother was more than just brotherly.  
  
While he couldn't remember the exact date it happened, Dean did remember how the realization had made him feel – small and alone, just like Sammy looked perched like a hawk on the edge of that bed, right now.  
  
He remembered the fire, and his brother making time stand still.  
  
Dean also clearly remembered the long walk in the rain to the liquor store that night. It felt like a lifetime ago. He remembered how desperate he was for a drink; desperate for something to help him forget – forget that he had just come all over himself, imagining his brother's cock in his mouth, among other things.  
  
That night, he'd bought the biggest bottle of Jack the place had and gotten shit-faced, alone, trying to forget how fucked-up he was.

* * *

  
Dean's relationship with Sammy had always been complicated. He'd had to be more than just a brother to him from the beginning: everything from mother and father to babysitter, playmate and teacher. He'd been bad at it - he knew - but he'd done his best, and done it gladly. It never made him resent Sam, or love him any less. If anything, it made Dean love his brother even more. The poor kid didn't really have anyone but him, after all. And vice verse.  
  
As time went by, the bond the brothers shared only deepened, especially after Sam was old enough to know the truth about their family, and join the hunt. Being able to share that secret with him brought Dean closer to Sammy and made the older Winchester realize how much his brother meant to him.  
  
It sounded stupid, but Sam was really Dean's reason for living. It was easy for Dean to feel like that - taking care of someone who literally couldn't live without him - but even as Sam grew to need him less and less, his brother never stopped feeling that way.   
  
In fact, as the boys grew older, Dean found himself feeling more and more attached to Sammy. It should have been the opposite, but instead he found himself wanting to be closer and closer to him. Dean didn't understand it, but he'd started having feelings for Sam he couldn't explain. More and more, he felt that his brother was the reason he'd been put on this god-forsaken planet. Not just to take care of and protect, but for something else – something  _more._  
  
Yes - he and Sammy were meant to be  _more_. Dean could feel it. But what did that mean? It was a mystery to him until that night - after Sammy had sliced his elbow.  
  
Finally, sitting side-by-side with his brother, patching up his arm – things had made sense to Dean for the first time.  
  
He couldn't have been more fucked-up over it.


	5. Dean - Part II

The older Winchester had ignored his younger brother's protests and made him sit on the edge of the motel bed as he bandaged his elbow. He'd done quite a number on it, falling over that gravestone, and Dean wanted to make sure it didn't get infected.  
  
He was almost done and was about to send Sammy on his way when he glanced up at his brother for just a second – and time stood still.  
  
Dean looked up the length of Sam's arm, met his eyes, and felt a fire roar to life between them - from out of nowhere. Suddenly awash in a hot sensation he'd never known before, he struggled to reconcile his thoughts – define them - but floundered.  
  
Looking at his brother just then, Dean's world didn't seem as scary as it used to - or as big. With Sam in it - with him there, right then - suddenly, everything was alright.  
  
For a split second, Dean was content – happy.  
  
_Whole_.  
  
He'd never felt that before.  
  
_This._  
  
In an instant, his life with Sam flashed before him - years of looking out for his brother, loving him so much, feeling like he was his sole reason for existing, being overwhelmed by him ... he finally understood it. _This_ was what it was supposed to be. This _fire_.  
  
It all finally made sense.  
  
_This is what we were meant to be._  
  
Dean felt a surge of tenderness move inside him and pressed his lips to his brother's broken skin. He could feel the warmth flow through him, pour out and over Sam in a wave. That wave came rushing back to him, more powerful than it had left, and with a surge of something else added in - Dean realized his pulse had quickened, his face was flushed, blood was rushing to his sex. His mind was racing - not just with blurry images of contentment, but lewd ones as well.  
  
He released his hold on Sammy's arm, ashamed of himself for being vulgar in his own mind, and worried that his brother could discern the mental transgressions he'd committed.  
  
The younger man stalked off, sulking over his bandaged injury but clearly none the wiser about his brother's insane epiphany.

* * *

  
Dean breathed a sign of relief and tried to brush the entire incident off - at first. The more he thought of Sammy, though ... remembering what his _fire_  had done to him _..._ the more everything made sense. The feeling he couldn't define - that nagging thought that he and his brother were meant for something more - it was true. Fucked up beyond belief, but true.

That first night was the hardest for Dean. He was consumed by the fire he'd felt - he couldn't help it; pulling himself to climax in the dark, thinking about what his little brother had brought out in him. He tried to push it from his mind, but he couldn't. The emotion racing through him in that moment – tenderness, desire, completeness - was real.  
  
_His feelings were real._ After all this time of not understanding – it finally made sense. 

* * *

  
Dean didn't like the sense it made. He immediately went and got shit-faced drunk, learning quickly that alcohol was one of the few things that helped him forget. Chasing skirts harder than ever didn't hurt, either. He even started going after guys, trying to drown that fire, but it never went far with any of them.  
  
It didn't take long for him to figure out why: _they weren't Sammy_.  
  
God-damn it, he was _fucked up_.  
  
Dean tried to hide how he felt about himself by perfecting a normal facade – as normal a facade as a Winchester would ever need, anyway - and kept his fire to himself. He never shared his feelings with anyone – _ever._ He never even _hinted_ at them and _certainly_ never acted on them - not once, not even after finding out his brother also enjoyed sex with guys. _Never_. Anything that even remotely smacked of inappropriateness, joking or no, Dean denied, dismissed and rebutted instantly and harshly.  
  
He didn't want to be alone with his feelings - and God, was Dean lonely - but he would never have done anything to tip anyone off to the fucked-up mess inside his head, least of all his brother. It would have destroyed _everything_. He couldn't do anything that might ruin his relationship with Sam, or worse yet – anything that might crush his brother's chance for a normal life.  
  
Sammy was his whole world - he loved him more than anyone had ever loved anything. He deserved a normal life - if he could find it.  
  
And find it he did.


	6. A Gift

_Dreams of loneliness_  
 _Like a heartbeat drives you mad_  
 _In the stillness of remembering what you had_  
 _And what you lost_

_Dreams – Fleetwood Mac_

* * *

Dean let Sammy go.

He didn't know how he'd been able to do it, but he had. It destroyed him, but there was nothing else to be done. If leaving was what Sammy wanted, who was Dean to stand in his way? Just his brother - _nothing more_. That truth tasted like poison in Dean's mouth, but it was a fact. It shook the older Winchester to his core - but it didn't stop him from doing the right thing.  
  
The righteous man drank a fifth of whiskey by himself and said goodbye to Sam. It was the hardest thing he'd ever do, which is saying quite a bit.

It killed Dean to ignore his gut, but he never called Sammy. He never wrote, didn't visit. He couldn't do that to his brother, who had finally escaped. Instead, he hunted and drank and fucked and acted like it didn't matter, until it hurt too much to go on - and then he'd start over. And over, and over, just adding to the stacks and stacks of shit piling up inside him.  
  
Part of him thought he might never see his brother again, so he lived like that were true. Learning to exist without his brother's fire was almost impossible. His life slowly became a single, agonizing day on the road. Without Sam there, Dean felt like his life was meaningless. He started treating it like it was.  
  
He had to. Sammy wanted a normal life. Without him. He had to let him have it.  
  
Dean wasn't always alone out there, but even when he wasn't, he may as well have been. The women - and men - he had on the road were of little consequence - all pale imitations of who he knew he belonged with. The presence of their father was also of little consolation to his son, who he had trouble relating to and whose inner life he could not comprehend. Their relationship was tenuous - but when John disappeared, the last thing keeping Dean sane disappeared as well.  
  
It took little time for the young man to become totally lost. Dean knew he needed help. He was loathe to reach out, but he had to. It was him, too – not just their father – that needed to be found.  
  
Only one person could fix this.

Emotions flooded Dean that night on the drive to Stanford. Every minute on the road gave him more time to think about how he was fucking up the life his brother had made for himself. He didn't want to destroy that. But he couldn't stop himself from going. He felt naked and empty without Sammy at his side, too weary and too alone to fight himself anymore. Years of pent up feeling escaped him – tears streamed down Dean's face as he drove, the entire ride crazed with the emotions he'd trained himself to push aside for so long.  


* * *

  
The brothers were reunited that night - the eldest having been saved by the younger, though Sam didn't know it. Dean was both reminded of his deep feelings for his brother and of the fact that he had to push aside most of them, for Sammy's sake. He did it, gladly. He was so hungry just to be near his brother again, he would have done anything. The agony of pretending was pale next to the pain of being without him another day.  
  
They continued on, Dean always drowning out and forgetting the things he couldn't share with Sam. But he hadn't let himself forget this motel, the epiphany he'd had here, or the moment of tender clarity he'd allowed himself so long ago. A flicker of nostalgia passed over him while driving by; he decided to indulge a whim by stopping.  
  
Now, within these familiar walls, Dean couldn't believe what he was hearing. The more he listened, the more amazed he became. How could he not realize Sammy would have his own story to tell about this old place? His brother had felt the fire, too - god-damn it! It all made so much sense to him now. How had he missed this?  
  
Dean was elated, for a while. Then the guilt hit him.  
  
 _God,_ he thought,  _it's all my fault._  
  
Listening to the agony spill from his brother's lips, Dean's heart was speared; the anguish matched his own in tone, pitch and intensity. He understood intimately the gravity his brother had been living with all this time. He should have seen this sooner. Or not allowed it in the first place. So much pain could have been spared, for both of them – so much wasted time and hurt.  
  
The shame, guilt, pain, loneliness and confusion they had both lived with could have been avoided.  
  
Dean shook his head slowly, trying to see through the blame in his eyes.  
  
 _No_ , he thought, _I didn't do this - it happened to us._  
  
The time for guilt and pain were over. Something good, something  _right,_ was finally happening _.  
  
_ After everything they'd been through, after all this time - _a gift._  


* * *

 

Dean felt the silence hang heavy in the air of that small room. He lifted his eyes to look at his brother, seeking the fire he now knew they shared.  
  
It was there. Dean melted. And then didn't know what to do.  
  
He never really knew what to do - ever - but especially not now.  
  
Sammy shifted under Dean's gaze, still sitting on the edge of that bed, looking so small.  
  
“Say something, Dean,” Sammy finally said.

Dean still didn't know what to do - but he knew what not to do: push aside the feelings he'd had – that they'd both had - for so long, for one god-damned minute more.

 


	7. Tide

_Now my reason's changing._  
_Fear has faded away._  
  
_Journey – In My Lonely Feeling_

* * *

 

“All better, Sammy,” Dean whispered.

The film of hurt clouding the younger Winchester's vision became tears then; his brother watched helplessly as liquid sadness erupted from the corners of soft eyes. A few drops fell heavy, soaking the fabric of his flannel and the v-neck hiding beneath in random patterns before Dean could react.  
  
“We've only ever had each other, Sammy,” he said, reaching for his brother's face with one hand to catch damp spheres on his fingertips, “But, I … I don't think that's so bad."  
  
Dean passed his fingers over his brother's features - so handsome, he thought - and wiped away more tears before they could spill.  
  
"Not ... not anymore," he finished.  
  
Sammy had been wound so tightly, expecting to snap or be snapped, that the lack of anything horrible happening was less of a relief and more of a broken climax. He instantly became more tired than he thought he'd ever been. Losing all the strength left in him, Sam deflated totally. Dean recognized the shape of his brother's posture and knew what would come next: the younger man began to convulse, now weeping freely as his body shook with sobs.  
  
“It's okay, Sammy,” Dean reassured, reaching for his brother to temper his cries, “You're okay. Everything's okay.”  
  
Dean repeated himself again and again as he wrapped the younger man in the warmth of his arms, adding “We're okay,” over and over.  
  
They were as children again in that moment, alone in a motel room; one scared, one equally terrified but pretending to have all the answers - comforting. Dean began rocking Sammy back and forth at the edge of the bed, tears crowding his vision now, too, as he remembered the countless times he'd done this as a boy. Every bump in the night, scraped knee or missed birthday – just like this.  
  
He blinked those memories away, now water in his eyes, before he allowed himself to speak.  
  
“I always knew there should be … more,” Dean said haltingly, squeezing his brother, rocking them both, “I …”  
  
Dean paused and took a breath while the moment hung in the air like fog.  
  
“I always wanted it,” he finished, barely a whisper, hoping that was enough said - for now at least.  
  
Sam's shaking stopped as his weeping slowed. The weight of his body turned to stone and their rocking stalled. The larger man unfolded himself and emerged from Dean's embrace to look his brother in the eye.  
  
They both hesitated, not wanting to be the first to move. Dean finally broke his inaction by reaching for Sammy's face again, cupping it tenderly in the curve of his palm.  
  
“I feel like I'm dreaming,” Dean said, a single tear escaping to slide unchecked down his cheek.  
  
Sam's eyes grew impossibly large and wet as he searched his brother's face, frantic for meaning.  
  
Dean somehow managed to answer all of Sammy's questions without saying another word.

* * *

  
  
Their first kiss was a cascade of damp faces and trembling hands. They had both moved to close the distance between them but stopped a breath apart, unsure of themselves in this territory. The air grew hot with waiting, neither man wanting to assume a role; each hesitating to take the lead or refuse it. Instead, they both leaned heavily toward the other in wordless symmetry, mouths hungry for acceptance.  
  
Dean tasted exactly as Sam expected – like sunshine and the earthy warmth of hops. He used his hands to roam his brother's body, the fire he recognized making him unafraid of things always so forbidden. Large hands fumbled with buttons – beginning at the collar, a plaid shirt fell open slowly while mouths entwined.  
  
Sam's lips were infinitely softer than Dean had ever imagined; he let out a sigh. Unashamed for once as a tide bearing his brother's name flooded his sex, memories of every time he had dreamed of this moment passed over him in warm waves.  
  
Dean murmured his brother's name, the fingers of the man he called to gliding over the buttons of his shirt. He reached both hands up and ran them through Sam's hair, grasping at the nape of his neck, pulling him further into their kiss, moaning into the younger man's mouth.  
  
" _Dean_ ," Sam breathed in return, mouth still pressed to mouth, hands peeling and pulling at cotton. His voice a delicate plea, his lips parted from his brother's only to ask, “What are we doing, Dean?”  
  
The older man pulled his mouth away slowly, only to steal an even slower smile from Sam's face.  
  
“Whatever you want, Sammy. Whatever you want.”

 


	8. Transparent

_Standing on a hill in my mountain of dreams,  
_ _Telling myself it's not as hard as it seems._

_Led Zeppelin – Going to California_

* * *

  
Still reeling, Sammy was overwhelmed.  
  
_Whatever he wanted?_   He could barely believe his ears.  
  
Overcome with feeling, the younger man's mind hadn't stopped racing with thoughts of fire and grief since this began. He took some time to just slow down and _think_.  
  
_This is real,_ Sam thought, wiping tears from his face _._  
  
He took a deep breath to calm himself and a moment to listen to his heart. It was pounding, louder than he'd ever heard. His head was spinning too, like he'd had too much to drink.  
  
And the ample bulge in his pants was starting to throb.  
  
Sam looked to Dean plaintively and was starkly reminded that the man's plaid shirt was open to the waist.  
  
_I did that,_ Sammy thought, eyeing his brother's bare chest just peeking out from under the flannel, _I unbuttoned Dean's shirt_.  
  
_While we were kissing.  
  
_ A shudder went through him as he allowed that fact to really _sink in_.  
  
Sam continued to stare at Dean's chest; he reached out and touched his brother's tattoo, trailed a finger from there to the warm spot at the center of his breastbone, then straight down the line to where his jeans met bare skin, fanning his hand out as it moved downward.  
  
The hunk of stone in Sammy's jeans jumped as he passed over his brother's taut flesh.  
  
“Whatever I want?” Sam asked, beginning to calm, a roguish tone bubbling below the surface of his voice. He slid two fingers under the waistband of Dean's pants, teasing and waiting.  
  
Dean had watched his brother stop to think, then breathe heavily and reach for him - untroubled. He'd followed his eyes and hand with an unblinkling gaze as they took turns trailing over his skin. Now, he looked Sam squarely in the eye.  
  
“Anything, Sammy,” he said, the boldness of not being alone shining in his voice, “Tell me and it's yours.”  
  
Sam did not speak or break eye contact, instead he silently continued the job of opening started at his brother's collar by unfastening the brass button of Dean's jeans - one-handed. The older man let out a sharp sigh and without warning lunged at Sammy; with neither man looking away, their faces crashed together again in a tangled mess of famished hands and tongues.

The sudden attack didn't derail Sam from his work; mouths dueled as button, zipper and cloth were pushed aside - and still, neither man looked away. Strong fingers brushed the tip of Dean's cock, hard and damp with want.  
  
“ _Sammy_ ,” Dean moaned, finally breaking the spell by closing his eyes. Repeating the name like a prayer, he was loathe each time to rip his mouth away from his brother's.  
  
“Sam, this isn't just about me,” he said between gasps.  
  
Smiling warmly inside his brother's kiss, the younger man shook his head for just an instant before he replied.  
  
“No - it's not,” he said, giving Dean one last deep pass with his tongue before moving to kneel between his legs on the floor beside the bed.

* * *

  
Sam was not shy - instead tender but firm as he coaxed Dean out of his shirt, peeling the flannel slowly off a shoulder. He pushed it down one arm and let it dangle loosely from the other. Scattering kisses over each patch of flesh as it was made bare to him, Sammy lingered and lavished attention over every scar, bruise and scratch his lips found. The young man continued, sliding his mouth across Dean's chest to do the same on the other side; he used his hands and nose to nudge the shirt away and kiss every inch of his brother's skin as it was freed. When the fabric finally fell away entirely, he balled it up and tossed it over his shoulder; it dropped heavily in a heap with some shoes and socks already abandoned by the door.  
  
His lips never left his brother's flesh.  
  
Dean was mesmerized, lost in the way Sam moved his hands and mouth over him - so deliberate, affectionate. The young man's delicate actions made him feel utterly transparent - something Dean had never felt before. He watched quietly, wondering if Sammy was as worshipful with all his lovers, before running his fingers through his baby brother's hair. Dean pulled it down in gentle fistfuls, softly tilting Sam's head up to meet his, bent low over him.  
  
Their eyes and lips met, hungry mouth tasting hungry mouth once again. Any shyness left in their forbidden kiss gave way to comfort and a soundless embrace as Sam wrapped his shirtless brother in long limbs. Dean reciprocated, allowing himself to drape and be draped in arms and hands for just a moment in silence before Sam broke the quiet.  
  
The big man was literally purring, rubbing his face into his brother's chest. Breathing in deep, Sam learned the scent of Dean then, memorizing it forever as he nuzzling the warm spot at his breast. He continued down, moving lower, hands roaming freely and falling to the button of Dean's pants, still open.  
  
Sammy pushed on Dean's chest gently, convincing him without words to lie back. He didn't want to but finally succumbed to his brother's gentle insistence that he allow himself to relax.  
  
A warm moan escaped Dean's throat as Sam's mouth moved to delve into the cleft at his belly. Lips moved lower to meet hands at the open fly of his jeans; Sammy stopped to work the rugged denim over Dean's hips, down over his ass, knees, ankles and bare feet. This fabric was also thrown unceremoniously over Sam's shoulder as the younger man took in all the hard lines now exposed to his eyes.

 _"Is this really happening?"_ Dean asked himself as his brother continued to rake his body with eyes and hands. Sammy found himself transfixed by the stark difference between Dean's tan skin and the pale fabric of his tight boxer-briefs; his eyes stalled at the pronounced outline of manhood shining through the thin material and he could not stop himself from running his fingertips gently over the silhouette he found.  
  
Dean took a sharp breath in, overwhelmed with desire. He was not by nature a shy or passive lover, and he was lucky enough to also be both unashamed and unafraid now. Sam clearly felt the same - the younger man's urgent lips, eyes and hands, moving so desperately over his resting form, suddenly made Dean feel idle and useless.  
  
He wasn't doing enough.  
  
Sitting bolt upright, Dean distracted Sammy for just a moment by engaging him in yet another deep kiss. Tongues slid gracefully over teeth, passed each other and back again while hands found cheeks, necks and collars to explore. Lacing his fingers behind Sammy's head, Dean was once more amazed by the softness of his brother's mouth. Sam too found again the sunshine taste of his brother's lips and their eagerness to devour and be devoured.  
  
“Sammy, let me take care of you,” Dean whispered - overwhelmed, stumbling over words. He realized how awkward his request to undress his brother was, so he distracted himself by grasping the younger man's button-up and unsnapping it slowly.  
  
Sam smiled as Dean pulled open more and more snaps that kept his flannel closed. The smile became a soft laugh as Sammy gently scoffed, shaking his head.  
  
“You always have, Dean” Sam breathed, but still allowed his brother to unfasten the plaid fabric totally. “Don't worry too much about me,” he continued as the older man tugged the shirt free from his arms and back.  
  
Dean thought of all the times he'd dressed and undressed Sammy - as a baby, as a boy. He closed his eyes against the weight of those memories and tossed the flannel, allowing it to join the growing pile of their clothing on the floor. Stooping low to grab the bottom hem of Sam's heather v-neck, Dean began pulling that up as well. Sammy allowed his brother to bare him to the waist, raising his muscular arms over his head as the thin cotton tee moved up his torso. As it slid from his neck and wrists, he shook his hair out deliberately. Dean watched carefully and gasped, once again overwhelmed.

“It's not worry, Sammy,” Dean said, tossing the thin tee as far from himself as he could, “It's want.”

 


	9. Passion and Purpose

_It was the heat of the moment_   
_Telling me what your heart meant_

_Heat of the Moment_ – Asia

* * *

  
Sam brought his arms down, smoothed his hands through his hair, then rested them carefully on Dean's shoulders. One hand wrapped itself around the scruff of his brother's neck as he pulled himself from the floor in slow motion, crawling up onto the bed to straddle the smaller man where he sat on the edge. He wanted nothing more than to devour Dean whole right then and there; instead, pressing himself from chest to cock against the body before him, Sammy kissed his brother with passion and purpose, all but knocking him backward in the process.

Mouths met wet and dense as Sam wrapped his arms around Dean and moved against him, rocking his hips gently. The almost involuntary motion pushed his hardness against his brother's, sending a shudder through both men.  
  
They moaned each other's names almost in unison. Sam lost his fingers in the fine hairs at the nape of his brother's neck, pulled him closer while they kissed. He tried to be calm and slow but failed, instead becoming more and more relentless with each pass. Dean was equally hungry, hands flashing to the fly of Sammy's jeans, his mouth as hasty as his fingers pulling at denim, eager to unearth the granite he knew lay beneath.  
  
“ _Dean_ ,” Sammy sighed between stolen breaths, giving a voice to the desire welling up from deep within, “Dean, _yes._ ”

The solid flesh under Dean's hands jumped and bucked, and he did not stop foraging for the source of the hardness. Sam's breath quickened, his pulse raced and his hands moved instinctively to the warm, stony spot between his brother's thighs.  
  
“Dean – _please_.”  
  
Sammy grabbed at the waistband of Dean's shorts, incapable of pulling them fully down but able to get his hands inside. He cupped, gripped and stroked the impressive length he found waiting for him there.  
  
The gravity of this moment - of the beautiful, strong, fragile thing straddling him, touching him - overwhelmed every one of Dean's senses. He became truly frenetic under his brother's words and actions, drunk on the want the two of them shared.  
  
“ _Fuck,_  Sammy - I _need_ you naked.”

Continuing to try to unzip Sam's jeans, Dean could not make his fingers move in the correct patterns - the weight of desire made it nearly impossible for him to concentrate on the task.

“I need it  _so_ _much._ ”  
  
Dean took a deep breath, rested his forehead against Sam's, looked him in the eye and refocused his efforts on unhooking the fastener under his fingers. Sam took the moment of respite to bring his hand to his mouth, lick his thumb, and send it back inside his brother's shorts. He gripped Dean's cock and swirled the wetness across the head and just underneath, to the sweet spot he knew waited there.  
  
All the while, Sam never broke his brother's gaze.  
  
“ _Sammy_ ,” Dean moaned, wide-eyed, almost unbelieving. The younger brother melted as the older's desire bore his name on its back.

Ripping at the fabric between him and his prize, Dean finally forced the zipper open. He pulled Sammy to full kneeling height and the larger man reluctantly abandoned his brother's hardness, wrenching hands out of cotton but leaving what he'd found there more solid and wetter than before.  
  
They both worked at getting the double-layer of fabric off Sammy's bottom half; struggled to untangle clothing from ass and spread thighs, over knees being knelt on, shins and awkward ankles - all without leaving the warm personal space they'd created. Sammy yanked the socks from his feet, shifting his weight many times and nearly toppling in the process. Dean pulled his brother's jeans and boxers down, squirming to work all the material off without removing Sam from his lap or dumping them both on the floor.  
  
After much fumbling, the need expressed was fulfilled: Sammy was bare - every hard line and muscled curve of him now out in the open and still at home straddling his brother. Dean took in the full sight of Sam for the first time then: his eyes passed over arms, chest, ribs, hips, thighs - then fixed steady on the monster of Sam's sex.  
  
Sammy's cock was in perfect proportion to his large frame, as Dean expected it would be. He slowly began to move his hands over the shape of the man he had only ever dreamed of knowing like this before today.  
  
“Tell me what you want, Sammy,” Dean breathed slowly, calming himself, closing his eyes and resting his forehead on his brother's chest. He was still except for roving hands, clutching fistfuls of smooth flesh made bare with desire.  
  
“ _Dean_ ,” Sam moaned, swallowing hard but not answering. He was finding it hard to think let alone speak, distracted by the proximity of his brother to his hard cock, and the sensation of it pulsing with every beat of his heart.  
  
Dean smiled to himself, still resting his head heavily against Sam's chest. He opened his eyes and looked down, meeting his brother's swollen manhood with his eyes. Dragging a single finger from the base of the heftiness he found, he let it meander slowly up to the tip and back down again.  
  
“What do you want, Sammy?” Dean asked, teasing. He went back for another pass up his brother's stiffness, “Can you tell me?”

By now, Dean knew Sam's answer. He didn't need him to put it into words. But, if Sam had been able to speak, he would have told Dean that what he wanted was everything: to do everything and have everything done to him. He wanted to finally be allowed to forget where he stopped and his brother began.  
  
Sam would have told Dean this, but he couldn't seem to open his mouth except to moan his brother's name.


	10. Breathless

_If I live without you_  
_I live without love_  
  
_Bad Company – Feel Like Makin' Love_

* * *

  
“I … "  
  
Sam hesitated.  
  
"I want to jerk you off," the younger man said slowly.  
  
He paused, took a shallow breath.  
  
"I want to suck your cock.”  
  
Dean's gliding fingers had demanded a response; at long last these words were pulled from Sammy's moaning throat by playful strokes. The eldest Winchester had not let up, questioning Sam over and over, teasing him with his hands until he'd gotten this halting answer.  
  
Still straddling Dean's lap, the younger man continued.  
  
“I want you to do the same to me,” he whispered.  
  
His words had begun as broken things but were made of iron now. Still, each was more breathless than the last. Nuzzling his brother's ear with his lips, Sam finished.

“At least, for starters,” he said, tiny sparks of want swirling shy from his mouth.  
  
Dean grinned. He had no sensible definition of right and wrong anymore - there was not the slightest hint of shyness in his smile. All thoughts of anything except this exceptional moment were long gone, having fled to land heavy among so much discarded cotton near the door.  
  
“You read my mind, Sammy,” he breathed.  
  
The younger man's body rose as his brother put mouth to skin made salty with the day's sweat. Lips touched the brawn of chest while hands floated over thighs, hips and ribs before moving behind to feel muscled back and ass. The flesh Dean touched and tasted was strong, taut and smooth - he smiled again and moaned into the cleft of the larger man's breast. Moving to take a hard nipple between his teeth, Dean teased it with the point of his tongue; he let out a warm laugh as Sam sighed in want and fell back hard on his haunches.  
  
Touching his brother's face, the younger man pushed an errant tuft of hair away from his eyes.  
  
“I also want you to take off the rest of your damned clothes,” Sam said, after a moment spent searching Dean's face - for traces of what, he didn't know.

Dean moved quickly but did not take his eyes from Sammy's body. He started to remove his underwear one-handed without withdrawing his gaze or touch from the younger man.  
  
It wasn't working. He almost fell off the bed sideways, taking his brother with him.  
  
Sam found it absurd that after so long without it, now neither of them could bare to break contact with the other, even just long enough to undress. He smiled to himself and pushed back, reversing off the edge of the bed and standing in one smooth motion. He planned to kneel at Dean's feet again, to give his brother room to maneuver. However, the older man moved to stop him before he could.  
  
Seeing Sammy stand at his full height, gloriously naked and hard – _so damned hard_ , he thought – Dean was lost again. Abandoning the task of disrobing, he reached for and took the younger man's hand, interrupting him from falling to his knees.  
  
“Sammy, I ...”  
  
He started, stopped, and looked up to his brother. Their eyes met as Dean realized he wouldn't be able to finish. He had so much to say, but he didn't know where to begin.  
  
“I know, Dean,” Sam said, running a free hand soft-as-silk through his brother's hair, “I know.”  
  
Bending low, he kissed the top of Dean's head. The touch of his lips was more tender than a breeze on a warm day.  
  
As Sammy leaned in, his sex swayed just inches from Dean who was unable to keep himself from reaching for it. Both hands passed over Sam's heftiness - one after the next, then together. The young man stood wordless, mouth ajar in a mixture of disbelief and pleasure as he watched himself be touched.

“I love you so damned much,” Dean said, his voice barely a whisper.  
  
Sammy met Dean's gaze again, saw green eyes damp and blurry. He was careful as he pulled himself from his brother's gentle grasp, finally kneeling again in front of him and moving in to kiss his face.

“Tell me this is real, Dean,” he said, pressing his lips close to his brother's ear, “Tell me it's _right_.”  
  
Dean was slow to abandon his trance but eventually moved to throw a sidelong glance at the younger man.  
  
“Something _finally_ makes sense, Sammy. Something's good _\- for_ _once._ You _can't_ tell me you think it's _wrong?_ ” he said, his voice bruised.

Sam shook his head vehemently.

“I don't care if it is or not,” he said, “I just need to hear you say it.”  
  
Nodding, Dean looked down at his hands, now empty and folded in front of him.  
  
“All I know is that I don't feel right when I'm not with you,” Dean whispered, “That can't be wrong. Not if you feel the same way.”

The younger man made a small noise and lifted his brother's chin with a finger. Meeting Dean's eyes one more time, he found them brimming with tears. Sammy watched one heavy drop fall - he brushed it away then darted forward to kiss lips already parting in anticipation. Their mouths met, tongue sliding over tongue in slow motion, and Sam let both hands fall to the waistband of Dean's pants just as slowly.

“I do, Dean. Now let me undress you.”


	11. A Hundred Thousand Times

_And I meant, every word I said_  
_When I said that I love you I meant_  
_That I love you forever_  
  
_Keep on Loving You – Reo Speedwagon_

* * *

 

Sammy had imagined this moment a hundred thousand times, in a hundred thousand different ways.

Never once had it been this perfect.

  
Grabbing Dean's waistband, Sam coaxed him up and started to pull. Tugging the cotton down ass and hips, he was especially careful around the thick bulge they hid. As the cloth dragged over the swollen manhood beneath, Dean whispered Sam's name; the word was plaintive, honey-coated and dripping with desire.

The younger Winchester tried to pace himself – really, he did – but the sounds coming from his brother's mouth provoked him. He wrenched the fabric from thigh to ankle in an instant, discarding it with haste.

So much inside of Sammy threatened to overflow as he finally stripped Dean naked. Eyes moved from solid contour to soft shadow, falling at last on that remarkable stretch of manhood – concealed, until now. Dean grinned at his brother's wide-eyed reaction but was otherwise still and silent, as bare and thick with want as the younger man.

Taking a breath, Sam caught Dean's gaze and found himself trembling. He'd had to hold so much in, for so long – he didn't know what to do. Part of him wanted to devour and be devoured, to enjoy the invisible feast laid between them; the other part wanted to sow the kind of gentle sweetness both he and his brother were always denied.  
  
Dean sensed his brother's thoughts. Lifting his arms, he beckoned an embrace and the larger man wasted no time crawling into bed on top of him. Ironing the length of his body against Dean's, Sammy bathed him in arms and hands. The elder Winchester gasped as the stony span of Sam's manhood pressed bare against his own, both of them dropping flat to the surface of the small bed under the weight.

Bags abandoned a lifetime ago were finally pushed aside as four strong hands entwined to shove them away: nylon and canvas landed on the floor as Sam and Dean's mouths met, wet and hot. Sprawled cock-to-cock with his brother, the pieces of Sammy seeking things gentle and sweet were lost in the heat of this closeness; he attacked Dean's mouth - kissing too hard, tongue probing, running hands all over. Dean returned the momentum tenfold as their kiss continued: groping, grasping. Before long, they were bucking against each other in a drawn-out battle of mouths and hands and legs, all tangled as the hardness of each of them yielded to the other's in equal measure.

After just a moment, Sam jerked his lips away from Dean's, panting. He reached down between their bodies and grabbed the hot length of his brother's hard cock, seizing it in his fist.

“How many times have you touched _this_ and thought of me?” he asked, his voice husky and rough. Sam brought his lips back to Dean's as he propped himself on an elbow, his grip softening. He began to stroke with a tender intent that made the other man short-winded.  
  
Inhaling to answer, Dean could not; instead, he stole more of the kisses that had rendered him breathless. He ran his fingers through Sam's hair, smoothing feathered ends back behind ears and pulling the younger man close, allowing tongues to delve even deeper into hot mouths.  
  
Slow caresses soon became rhythmic - hard. Pulling and teasing his brother's stiffness, Sam saw Dean's eyes blow wide and quickly became overwhelmed himself by the feeling of silk stretched over steel beneath his fingers.

“ _Sammy_ ,” Dean cried, touching his forehead to his brother's. The intensity between them was incandescent, a fire burning as Sam's fist found a deliberate cadence. Dean breathed in to speak again but was unable to, gasping instead, speech unraveling at the tip of his tongue. He moaned quietly and mouthed the words he could not voice.

“ _Yes_ ,” he tried to say, nodding, “ _More_.”

The younger man read his lips and catered to the silent request. He gripped Dean's cock, stroking the thick heft tight and fast – stopped abruptly then starting again, over and over, teasing and smiling wide while he did so.

Dean shuddered, positive he was dreaming. Sam was in his own quiet heaven kissing his brother's face, watching in awe as each touch transformed him more and more into a quivering fawn. He took the time to memorize every detail of Dean's pleasure as it was unearthed for him: the soft curve of his mouth as he moaned, the way every muscle tensed and relaxed under his hand, every tiny stifled noise coming from the usually boisterous man beneath him. The younger man was almost catatonic, using every sense to relish the moments passing heavy between them - each one more full of muted sounds, phrenetic motions, gasps, sighs and kisses on open mouths than the last.

“ _Sammy_ ,” Dean finally choked, breaking both the silence and Sam's revelry with a sense of urgency, “ _Stop_.”

Thrusting weakly into his brother's clenched fist, Dean's voice contradicted his body as he continued.

“I'm too close, Sammy,” he whispered, pawing at the younger man's face, "Please, you _have to stop_."

Sam did not.

“Let me take care of you, Dean,” he responded, words pregnant with want.  
  
Breaths quick and ragged escaped Dean's throat.  
  
“ _Not yet_ , _Sammy_ ,” he demanded, still whispering.

It took everything in him to stop his brother – he twisted out from under Sam and pushed him flat on his back in one motion.

Roles reversed, now it was Dean's turn to prop himself on an elbow and let a hand stray. Sammy's cock was full, softly throbbing and demanding attention; Dean obliged, caressing his brother as they continued to kiss atop the thin motel blanket.

Sighing under the collision of skin, Sam wasted no time losing both hands in Dean's hair. The older man also wasted little time, pulling himself from their kiss and shifting his weight.  Moving his mouth over his brother's torso, lips soon came to rest just inches from patient manhood. It pulsed in gentle rhythm to the beat of Sammy's heart while the younger man took in slow draughts of air.  
  
“ _Dean_ ,” Sam said, the word falling familiar and warm from his mouth as he passed fingers through his brother's hair again.  
  
The eldest Winchester took a moment to appreciate what lie before him before continuing onward. He passed his hands feather-light from one peaked hipbone to the other, stopping just shy of Sammy's cock. It had gone from full to impossibly hard now and was quivering, desperate.

The younger brother bit his lip as Dean moved to touch its length - a sweet slow drag, followed by another, and another. Thin trails of wetness followed his fingers as he passed them over the head and down again, clutching the shaft.

“ _Not fair_ ,” Sammy whispered, words spilling hot from his kiss-swollen mouth.

Desire seeped from Sam's lips, matching the liquid sex seeping from his manhood. Long fingers twisted rough in Dean's hair and his own cock leapt at the contact.

“I take care of you, Sammy,” he said quietly, smiling up at his brother, “It's what I do.”  
  
Sam's eyes were pleading.  
  
“ _Not fair,"_   they seemed to say, " _it was my turn."_  
  
Dean smiled again, gripping his brother's hardness in a fist as he ran the fingers of his other hand slowly up and down the remaining length. Sam opened his mouth and closed his eyes in surrender, losing many words to pleasure before they could escape his throat.

It was pointless for him to speak. He couldn't argue with Dean – not ever, but especially not now.

Not while he was stroking his cock like he owned it.

**Author's Note:**

> For anyone who's subscribed and reads as soon as I publish, or anyone who's been reading since I first published: I am an obsessive reworker, so you might want to go back now and then and re-scan! I seem to always tweak a chapter a few times right after I publish.


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